He'd begun to
cool.
"Reduced to the ranks--thirty days in irons--solitary confinement!"
Lessard snapped the words out with a wolfish satisfaction.
"Keep a close mouth, Sarge," MacRae spoke in Spanish with his eyes bent
on the floor, "and don't quit the country till I get out." Then he
turned at the orderly's command and marched out of the room.
When I again turned to Lessard he still stood at the end of the desk,
industriously paring his fingernails. An amused smile wrinkled the
corners of his mouth.
CHAPTER VIII.
LYN.
Whereas Lessard had acted the martinet with MacRae, he took another tack
and became the very essence of affability toward me. (I'd have enjoyed
punching his proud head, for all that; it was a dirty way to serve a man
who had done his level best.)
"Rather unfortunate happening for you, Flood," he began. "I think,
however, that we shall eventually get your money back."
"I hope so," I replied coolly. "But I must say that it begins to look
like a big undertaking."
"Well, yes; it is," he observed. "Still, we have a pretty thorough
system of keeping track of things like that. This is a big country, but
you can count on the fingers of one hand the places where a man can
spend money. Of course, you probably realize the difficulty of laying
hands on men who know they are wanted, and act accordingly.
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